


Unlikely Cabin Mates

by ancalagontheblack



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Father, Bullies, Camp, Childhood Friends, M/M, Nightmares, Stucky - Freeform, Summer Camp AU, Teenagers, Young Love, cabin mates, good guy steve, mental scars, physical scars, tragic past, troublesome youths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalagontheblack/pseuds/ancalagontheblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Steve goes to summer camp every year, and loves it until he is stuck in a cabin with a new scary emo-kid.</p><p>Every year, Steve Rogers goes to Camp SHIELD for 3 weeks of outdoor swimming, campfires and team building. It's his entire childhood. But that all changes when the only cabin left is the two bed shack on the edge of the campsite, and his roommate is a intimidating teen with troubles more horrifying than his rats-nest hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Camp SHIELD

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first Stucky fan-fiction, so be nice. Un-beta'd, so any mistake is mine alone.

The coach pulled into the parking lot at precisely 12:47, which was 47 minutes later than it should be, which meant Steve Rogers was 47 minutes late for the start of summer camp.

The tree that had fallen down on the road meant the coach had to take a detour, therefore most of the campers would have been assigned cabins by now. So there was a good chance Steve could end up in Red Skull Shack, the little two-bed cabin on the edge of the campsite, so-called because one of the unlucky saps who had once stayed there had found Nazi-satanist mumbo-jumbo carved into the wooden floorboards when he had ripped up the carpet.

Quickly jumping off the coach, with a swift thank you to the driver, he pulled his bag out of the under-carriage and speed-walked over to the main hall. It being his fifth and final year at camp SHIELD, Steve knew his way around like it was a second home. Pushing open the double doors, he breathed in the familiar smell of pine and musty furniture. Spotting one of the camp counselors, Steve grinned broadly and greeted Phil warmly.

"Rogers! Wow, look at you! Been hitting the gym recently? You've gain a bit of muscle, I have to say."

Steve laughed. "I guess I finally hit that growth spurt I was praying for, Coulson. It's good to be back, though. Have you got the list for cabins? I'd like to drop my bags off before I find Sam and Natasha."

Phil's smile turned to a look of pity, and he handed Steve a clipboard with a list of names typed on the paper. "I'm afraid, Steve, that you've been placed in cabin 107."

Steve looked down at the list and sure enough, his named was printed out neatly, right next to the number 107. The Red Skull Shack. Wonderful. Apparently he was rooming with some guy named James Barnes... A new kid to be sure. He sighed. Great, what more could he ask for?

 

***

 

Bucky sat on the thin mattress, staring dejectedly at the words that swam across the page in front of his eyes. He couldn't seem to focus, not since his parents had dropped him off at this shit-hole almost an hour ago. They said it was a good chance to 'have fun' and 'make friends', but Bucky knew it was just an excuse to chuck him out of the house for a few weeks. He didn't even want to be here, this prison camp full of phony smiles and happy-go-lucky kids running around making macaroni art. What a load of bull.

Sighing, he readjusted the Sylvia Plath novel on his lap, trying to focus on the writing instead of letting his thoughts stew, which in the end would make him even more miserable.

Suddenly, the cabin door flew open, resonating around the room with a bang, and in stomped a distinctly rumpled-looking guy around Bucky's age. But he was definitely larger. A white t-shirt strained over a large chest and biceps, and the guy had to be at least six foot. Blonde hair neatly combed to the side covered his head, and a big bag was slung over his back. Bucky quickly assessed his new room mate, then dropped his head to continue reading.

The guy dropped his bag on the remaining bed in the corner, then strode over to stand opposite Bucky, his right hand held out in greeting. "Nice to meet you, I'm Steve Rogers." Bucky slowly closed his book, and lifted his head to look at the outstretched hand, then up at the smiling face staring down at him. Without shaking Steve's hand, he said "James Barnes. But I prefer Bucky." And went back to reading his novel.

Steve stood there frozen for a few moments, arm still extended, before retracting it and clearing his throat. "Well, uh, I guess we're roommates for the next three weeks." "I guess so," replied Bucky, his response muffled by the angle of his face pointing towards his book instead of Steve. Steve continued to stand there awkwardly, obviously waiting for his roommate to add anything, but when none came, turned to unpack his bag. "You don't mid if I take these drawers, do you?" He asked, pointing at the chest in question. Bucky gave some noise of consent and waved his hand in Steve's direction, still making no reply. Steve nodded and began pulling out his clothes.

Whilst his back was turned, Bucky glanced up to observe his roommate. Steve was hunched over the drawers, his back muscles straining through the thin shirt he wore. Bucky found his gaze wandering down south, and heard himself think ' _nice ass_ ' before quickly putting a stop to that train of thought before it could go any further.

Steve finally stood and surveyed the room.  
"So, do you have any specific needs that I should know about? I like to have a shower as soon as I get up, which is usually around 6am, so feel free to use it anytime after that."

Bucky sat up straighter, closed his book and placed it by his side before finally deciding to answer Steve.  
"Okay listen up, Stevie boy. I'm not exactly here by choice, and I can see right through this whole fake good guy act, so cut the crap. I'm not here to make friends, I'm here because my parents can't stand the idea of spending the entire summer with their good-for-nothing, dead-beat kid. So they shipped my ass off to summer camp. All I wanna do is make it through the next three weeks without any incidents, and that's gonna be extremely difficult with some kid who looks like the poster child for good behaviour and personal hygiene trying to be buddies within the first five minutes of meeting. So just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."

Bucky stood up and grabbed a pair of ear buds out of his bag, along with his iPod, jammed the buds into his ears and turned on his music, before falling back down on his bed and nodding along to the beat.

Steve stood there, mouth slightly open, then shook himself out of his shock, and kicked his bag under his bed and wrenched the door open.  
"Camp meeting is at one." he tossed over his shoulder before storming out of the cabin, door slamming behind him. Bucky gave no indication he heard, but when the door banged shut he took out the ear buds and tossed his iPod on the pillow. Placing his head in his hands, Bucky sighed. That could have gone better.

 

***

 

Walking back into the main hall, Steve searched through the masses of kids until he found Sam sitting at a table fiddling with a wooden carving of a bird.

"Sam!" Steve called, lifting a hand in greeting.

Sam Wilson looked up and grinned, grabbing Steve's hand and slapping him on the back. "Holy cow, Steve, you on steroids or something? What happened, man? You're freaking huge!"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I finally hit that growth spurt my mom was certain was just around the corner. Hit the gym quite a bit, went on runs, and here I am."

Sam shook his head. "Well, when you're ready to tell me your secret, you let me know." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. "God, can you believe it, Rogers? This is our final year of camp. We may not see any of these people again after this."

"I know," Steve agreed. "I guess being seventeen does have its downsides. I'm sure gonna miss this place. Well, maybe not the food. Way too lumpy." Steve pulled a face.

"Speaking of being way too lumpy, have you seen Natasha?"  
Right on cue, a hand flew out and smacked Sam on the side of his head, followed by Natasha plonking down in the spare seat. "Hey fellas."  
"Ow, Tasha, why you gotta hit so hard?" Sam moaned, rubbing the side of his head.

"Didn't your mom ever tell you it's rude to insult a lady?" Natasha fired back.

"Well, yeah, but still, that hurt! God damn, you think I would have learnt by now."  
Natasha nodded in agreement, before turning to Steve. "How's it going, Steve? You look good, by the way. I like the muscles. Although you may want to invest in a bigger shirt..."

Steve's ears went slightly pink at the jest about his stretched top. "Didn't have time to go buy some new ones." He mumbled.

Natasha waved her hand. "Oh please, don't change it. I'm certain a few other campers are appreciating the view."  
Looking round, Steve noticed that he was in fact getting a few glances, especially from some of the female campers. His blush spreads all across his cheeks and nose, making Natasha snort.

"Anyway," Steve coughed, determined to move the subject on to one he could actually manage. "You'll never guess what cabin i'm-"  
"The Red Skull." Natasha interrupted. "What?" She asked when Sam and Steve stared at her. "I snuck a glace at the list."

"Right, well, yeah, but that's not the worst part. My roommate? This new kid called Bucky who is seriously weird. I tried being nice but he comes out and starts yelling at me like I just threw all his clothes in the lake. Plus he's got crazy hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in two years. I'm telling you, that kid's got issues." Steve ran his hands through his hair, thinking about how he was gonna make it through the next three weeks without waking up to have his bed set on fire.

"Is that him?" Sam asked, pointing towards the doors. All three of them turned round in time to see the new kid Bucky push past a group of fifteen year olds, making a few of them glare at him, and slumping down in a seat that was as far away from the stage and everyone else as he could get.

"Man, you weren't kidding about the hair. Is he wearing eyeliner?" Sam craned his neck to get a better look at the brooding teen at the back of the hall.  
"Steve, didn't you use to know a kid called Bucky when you were seven?" Natasha asked, turning back to face Steve. "Wouldn't that be weird if it was the same guy."

"Nah, that Bucky moved to Russia. I really doubt they're the same person. My Bucky was friendly and charming, even for a seven year-old. This Bucky, he's... cold. Harsh. Definitely not the kid I knew..." Steve continued to glance over at Bucky, eyebrows furrowed, until the Camp Director Nick Fury strode up on stage, black trench coat flapping around his legs.

"Okay, listen up everybody. First of all, welcome back. Now, I'm gonna go over a few rules for any new kids here this year, and then Coulson's gonna give you a talk about camp activities. Rule number one, under no circumstances are you allowed past the camp limits. The forest is out of bounds for your safety. Rule number two, I don't wanna see any campers younger than fifteen out of their cabins after 10 o'clock. Same rule applies to sixteen and seventeen after 11 o'clock. And God help the unlucky soul who I catch breaking this rule. Number three, stay in your designated cabin areas. I don't want to see any guys trying to sneak into the girls' cabins, and vice versa. Jake Grenshaw, I'm looking at you." A mild ripple of laughter travels through the hall, before Fury continued. "And finally, any illegal contraband found on a camper will be confiscated, and said camper will be sent home. We've had a few related incidents in the past, and let me tell you, they did not end pretty. Keeping these rules in mind, I'm sure you'll find your stay at Camp SHIELD go by without any trouble. Now I'll let Coulson continue with information relevant to the following weeks."  
Fury stepped down off the stage, and exited through a side door, whilst Phil Coulson jumped up to talk.

"Thank you Director Fury. So, welcome back everyone, and welcome to any new campers joining us this term. I'd like to start off with the timings for each event. Breakfast starts at seven, followed by first activities at eight. Each activity is an hour and a half long, so you'll have two activities before free time at eleven for an hour, and then you can make your way down to the mess hall for lunch at twelve. You then have another hour for free time, which can be spent on the soccer field or courts, or whatever you decide. At one thirty you have two more activities, until four thirty, which gives you enough time to change and have a shower for dinner at five.

Finally at six we have a camp fire or soccer game which usually ends at eight, and then you have time to socialize or call your parents, with permission of course, then its lights out at ten for twelve to fifteen year olds, and eleven for sixteen and seventeen, as Director Fury stated before. Sundays are a little different, as we have a looser schedule planned for those days, like the music fest in the second week. You can pick up a timetable for your activities outside, along with a map of the camp grounds in case you are unsure of where to go. Anyone with medical issues must go to the medical bay everyday at twelve thirty to get checked up. Any questions, please speak to me after. First activities start in half an hour, so go pick up your timetable and make yourself known to the counselor who is taking your session. And remember to enjoy yourselves and make new memories. Dismissed."

A general noise of chatter rose after Coulson's speech, and kids began to slowly file out of the main hall back to their cabins. Steve followed Natasha and Sam through the crowd, but not before glancing over to Bucky's side of the room. But the scowling teenager had already vacated his seat and was no where to be seen.

"Come on Steve, I think we have softball first." Sam called back, startling Steve out of his musings. He shook his head and continued on out the door, making sure to grab a timetable before heading back to his cabin to change into something easier to play softball in.


	2. Widow and Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Bucky meets Natasha, and is understandably scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a short chapter, I know, but I am working on bigger stuff. Comments and kudos always appreciated.

Bucky wasn't a big fan of ball games. In fact, he wasn't a fan of games whatsoever. So when the first activity on his schedule was softball, his only instinct was to try and get sent out as soon as he could. So when it was Bucky's turn to bat, he let in two strikes before hitting a fly ball and letting it get caught. So when the counselor called him out, he gladly stomped away from the playing field to drop down under the calming shade of a large oak tree. 

But he couldn't help watching when Steve stepped up to the batter's box. His roommate tapped the edge of the bat on the ground before tightening his grip around the base, brows furrowed in concentration. The pitcher, a bug hulking kid with dark hair and a constant smirk, tossed the ball between his hands for a few moments, then took a step forward and passed the ball underhand. The ball shot straight towards Steve at an alarming rate, but Steve managed to twist his body at the right moment, and the ball hit the bat with a satisfying _crack_ , and went flying off past the 2nd base. Steve wasted no time and immediately shot off around the infield, touching each base in turn, whilst the fielders ran to grab the ball and lob it back. But by then they were too late, as Steve had already made it back to home base and scored a point.

Bucky would never admit it out loud, but he was impressed. Obviously so were the rest of the team, and the camp counselor, who nearly dropped her clip board in shock. Steve was greeted with loud cheers from his peers, and even from the opposing side. 

Bucky snorted and went back to drawing symbols on his arm with a black pen. He didn't exactly work well in a team, therefore wasn't able to comprehend the smiles and pats on the back Steve was receiving. It was like a foreign concept to him. Bucky had always preferred to work alone. There was no one to annoy him, and no one for him to disappoint.

His temporary tattooing was interrupted by a sudden presence. Bucky looked up to see a girl with red hair standing in front of him. She had somehow snuck on him without his knowledge, almost as if she had appeared out of thin air. The girl stared down at him, like he was a tricky math problem she was trying to solve, making Bucky squirm uncomfortably under her penetrating gaze. 

Finally, she stuck her hand out fluidly. "You are Bucky, no? I am Natasha, a friend of Steve's. I understand he is your roommate."

Bucky hesitantly shook her hand, nodding. "Yeah. Can I help you?"

Natasha seated herself cross-legged in front of Bucky. "I just wanted to have a chat. Have you ever been to summer camp before?"

Bucky shook his head. "No, this is my first time. Hopefully my last, too."

Natasha's eyebrows rose. "You do not like it here?"

Bucky laughed, but it sounded false. "No. It is definitely not something I consider my kind of thing. I am only here because of my parents. They wanted to spend two weeks on a cruise in the Mediterranean, without me of course."

Natasha continued to study him, green eyes missing nothing. She picked up the symbols on his arm, but refrained from mentioning them. "So you are here. You are also with Rogers in the Red Skull cabin. Tough luck. Some say it is haunted by Nazi extremists. But I wouldn't worry.  They cannot hurt you. But I can."

Suddenly Natasha's gaze became slightly hostile, and her voice took on a sharp edge. "Steve Rogers is a very good friend of mine. I have known him for a while. I also know he is a very kind and gentle person. But he is also near a breaking point. He has many troubles at home, and he does not need someone to push him over the edge. So I am warning you, James Buchanan Barnes, do not trouble Steve Rogers. Or you will have me to answer to."

Natasha stood up, brushing down her trousers. "Thank you for your co-operation." She turned to go, but before leaving, threw over her shoulder, "Your Russian is very good, by the way." And she strode off to rejoin the softball game.

That was when Bucky realized their whole conversation had been in Russian.

One thing was for certain, Natasha was not a girl he would try and get on the wrong side of.


	3. Trouble on the Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has an unfortunate run-in with Brock Rumlow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the previous short chapter, I was just struggling to get something out there. Please accept my apology in the form of a longer chapter :)

Sitting down in the mess hall with Natasha and Sam at dinner, Steve felt the memories flood back to him like a dam being broken in his thoughts. He and Sam trying to coax the silent Natasha into talking when they first met, chucking potatoes at each other in their second year at camp, Sam falling off his stool laughing at Steve's walrus impression using carrot sticks in their third year, Natasha accidentally getting a knife wedged in the wooden table in their forth. 

Now, looking round at his two best friends chatting companionably, he couldn't have asked for a better place to create so many great memories. They were there for him when his father left when he was 13, his mother being diagnosed with breast cancer when he was 16, and he knew they would be with him to the very end. 

He nearly spat out his water at Natasha's comment about Coulson's receding hair line, and Sam burst out in a hearty laugh that was contagious. 

Wiping back tears, Steve leaned forward in his seat, where he saw Bucky sitting isolated at an empty table. A few of the youngest campers tried to sit down near him, but his scowl sent them scrambling to find a different seat. Steve felt a strange feeling in his heart, pity for the new kid, although he seemed to prefer being left alone. 

He knew he would probably regret this, remembering Bucky's warning earlier in the day, but Steve couldn't let him sit alone, so he got up to go invite him over.

But someone else had got there first, and their intentions weren't as amiable as Steve's.

Brock Rumlow sat down opposite Bucky, and was unperturbed at his glare.

 _Oh crap_ , thought Steve. This was not good. 

 

***

 

The pitcher from the softball game dropped down into the stool opposite Bucky, making him scowl at the guy from around the rim of his cup. Three other guys who were most likely his gang took up seats around them.

"Well, well, you must be new. The name's Brock Rumlow, and these are my boys Jacob, Mark and Pietro."

"Enchanted." Bucky grumbled, stabbing at a pile of pasta with his fork.

Brock continued. "As I was saying, you must be new, otherwise you would know that this is our table."

Bucky looked up from his food to stare Rumlow in the eye. "Then find another one. This one's taken."

The boys surrounding Bucky snickered, and Brock shook his head. "I don't think you understood me, buddy. This is  _our_ table, so I suggest you remove your ass from that seat before I have to remove you myself."

Bucky's grip around his fork tightened, and his voice was forced when he spoke. "I don't like people bossing me around. So get lost before you do something you will regret."

Rumlow's gang oo'ed, obviously sensing a fight was brewing. Brock himself cracked his knuckles threateningly. "Oh yeah, tough guy? What are you gonna do? Go crying to Fury? Is that what you do? Go crying to a grown-up when things get scary? What are you really made of, kid?"

Bucky snapped. He flew across the table, hands aimed for Brock's meaty throat. Brock fell off the stool with a grunt, but pushed Bucky off and clambered to his feet. "Oh, you're gonna regret that, kid." Brock's fist flew, connecting with Bucky's jaw, and sent him spinning to the ground. He shook his head, seeing stars, but jumped back up and took a swing at Rumlow's smirking face, but his arm was stopped midair. He looked behind him to see Steve Rogers standing there, a scowl marring his features. 

Without a word, Steve strode forward, pushing Bucky out the way, and his knuckles slammed into Brock's gut. The big guy went down on one knee, gasping for air. Steve hit him again across the nose, but before he was able to get another shot in, Brock's cronies were on him, pummeling him into the ground. Bucky joined in the fray, but all were torn apart by interfering camp counselors. Bucky glimpsed Steve's face, red marks covering every inch, and one eye that was beginning to turn purple, until he was carted off to the medical bay.

 

***

 

"Okay dear, just keep that ice pack there and the swelling should go down in due time." The nurse shuffled over to the counter to grab some cotton balls. "Let's just clear all this blood off your forehead. That's a shallow cut, but head wounds bleed quite a bit, so you'll need a bandaid as well." She dabbed at the mark above Steve's left eyebrow, making him wince.

"You only have yourself to blame, dear. Shouldn't be getting into fights, now should we? But I guess I understand, what with having 3 sons of my own. They're all grown up now, of course, but they sure did know how to gain a black eye when they were younger. Keep that ice on your eye dear, there's a good boy."

Steve sighed, and immediately regretted it as his ribs gave a pang of protest. That kid Jacob sure knew how to pack a punch.

He had been in the medical bay for about an hour now, as the nurse checked he didn't have any broken bones or internal bleeding. He had seen Bucky being bustled past before, but other than that had no idea how the other boy was being treated.

Steve knew it was Rumlow who had provoked him, but Bucky was technically the one who started the fight. That didn't mean good news for Bucky. Or Steve, for that matter. All his life, Steve had stood up for kids being picked on or tossed around by bullies. His mother had made it a second instinct for him to help someone in need, and fight for the right cause if he believed in it strongly enough. That was before she had been put in the hospital.

The door opened, and Steve looked up to see Phil Coulson standing in the doorway. "You better come with me, Steve."

 

 

 Steve had never seen the inside of Nick Fury's office, but that's because he had no reason to. But walking in now, he knew that things were only going to get worse for him. He saw Bucky sitting in the seat opposite Fury's large oak desk, which was topped by a computer and various paperwork. Steve sat down in the chair next to Bucky, and carefully lifted his eyes to meet Nick Fury's. Or rather, his one remaining eye. No one knew how he lost it, and Steve didn't think it was a good time to ask.

"So," Fury began, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. "You boys decided to start a scuffle in the mess hall. Please, mister Rogers, let me finish." 

Steve closed his mouth which he had opened to protest, and let his head fall back to study his shoes.

Fury continued. "As you both know, Camp SHIELD does not tolerate fights, especially in public areas where innocent kids could have been caught up in your mess. Brock Rumlow has a broken nose, and Pietro Marzoni has a split lip and multiple bruises on his cheek. I have half a mind to send you both packing this minute." 

Director Fury paused, looking at the two teenagers individually. "But I won't." 

Steve's head shot up at this last sentence. Bucky continued to have a deep fascination with his trouser leg.

"Rogers, you have been a dedicated camper here for the last five years, and a perfect record like yours shows me this was a one-off thing, and I expect it won't happen again. I have it on good terms that you were defending mister Barnes here, and weren't the initial cause of the fight. But this is only a warning, boy. One more step out of line and I can undo this just as quickly. Are we clear?"

Steve gulped. "Uh... yes, yes sir. Thank you sir."

"As for you Barnes, I am well aware of your situation at home, which I am taking into consideration. I have decided to let you off the hook as well, but I will be informing your parents and your therapist. Both of you will still be expected to face punishment. Kitchen duties for the next week, and you will be on strict regulations to not engage in any more acts that could result in your expulsion from camp. Do you understand?"

Both Steve and Bucky nodded, and Fury waved a hand towards the door. "You're free to go. And don't let me find you in this office again."

Bucky shot out of the chair, racing past Coulson who stood waiting outside. Steve ran to catch up with him.

"Hey, Bucky! Wait!" He called. Bucky slowed to a halt some yards beyond the office, and Steve stopped a few steps behind him.

"What was Fury talking about? You go to therapy? What happened at home?"

Steve's face was etched with concern, but Bucky wouldn't turn round to face him. 

"It's none of your business, Rogers."

"Well, considering I saved your butt back at dinner there, I think you at least owe me an explanation. Why'd you flip? Was it something Rumlow said? You just gotta ignore him, that guy's an asshole."

Steve heard Bucky breathe deeply before he replied. "He called me kid."

Steve hesitated. "Okay. Is there something wrong with that?"

Bucky whirled round to face Steve. "You don't get it, do you Rogers? It isn't about what Rumlow said. It's me. I'm just... I'm... Forget it, you would't understand. No one does. Not my mom, my therapist, my friends, no one. So please, for the love of God, don't try and get to know me, or understand me, because you'll probably end up hurting yourself. We'd both be better off."

Bucky turned and stomped off, his ratty black hair bouncing with every step.

Steve stood there for a moment, before yelling after him, "I would understand, Barnes! You don't know about me either. Don't be a dick and shut people out."

Bucky flipped him off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, if you want to follow me on tumblr, it's wintersoldier-of-westeros


	4. Not One for Watersport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day reveals more insight on Bucky's past, and Sam gets a little angry in water polo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments, it really makes me happy when I read them. If you have anything that you are unsure of, or want to happen, let me know and I can always try and sort it out in the next chapter. comments and kudos always greatly appreciated :)

When Steve made it back to the cabin after assuring Sam and Natasha he was okay, it was already nine thirty. There had been no campfire that evening, giving campers time to unpack and settle in. Quietly opening the door, he heard the water running in the bathroom, and slipped over to his bed. Changing his jeans into baggy sweatpants, Steve grabbed his sketch book and continued the drawing of his mother. He drew anything that took his fancy, and sketching his mom helped him imagine she was sitting there beside him smiling fondly, eye crinkling. 

A short while later, he heard the shower turn off. Keeping his head down, he waited for Bucky to exit the bathroom, hoping that the other boy didn't say anything. As Steve had guessed, he didn't. Closing his sketch book, Steve stood up from his bed to enter the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he emerged, Bucky was lying facing the wall, ear buds in, hair still slightly damp from his shower. 

Silently thanking that they had both agreed on an early night, Steve pulled off his shirt and climbed under the sheets. Casting one last glance at Bucky's still form, he flicked the light switch off, sending the cabin into darkness.

 

***

 

_Bucky trembled in the darkness, as light slanted through the wardrobe slates as he peered out. An angry shout echoed through the house, making Bucky whimper. He clutched his bear tightly to his chest, whispering quietly that the shouts would go away. But they only got louder._

_Footsteps sounded on the landing outside, big and heavy. Bucky's heart beat wildly in his chest, and he pushed himself further back in between the coats and dresses._

_More shouts could be heard outside, the yells of a woman, and the harsh words of "Where's the kid?" from a man, before the door opened with a bang, making Bucky jump. The footsteps drew closer to his hiding spot, and Bucky thought the rapid thudding of his heart was loud enough to give him away. The yelling was extremely loud now, right in front of him, and Bucky clasped his little hands over his ears, hoping to shut it out. But he couldn't._

_His nose began to dribble, and without thinking he sniffed. The shouting stopped, and the heavy footsteps came right up to the place where he sat tucked in the blackness. A few moments passed, what felt like ages, as Bucky sat frozen solid, not daring to breathe._

_Then light blinded his eyes as the wardrobe doors were yanked open, and a rough hand grabbed his small wrist and he was pulled abruptly from between the coats._

 

Bucky woke with a yell, and nearly bashed his forehead against Steve's nose, where he was trying to gently shake Bucky awake by the shoulders.

"Jeez, Bucky, you nearly gave me another black eye. What the hell was going on? You were whimpering and crying out in your sleep. It's two in the morning, were you having a nightmare?" Through the gloom Bucky could make out the worry lines creasing Steve's forehead.

"S'nothing, go back to sleep. I'm fine." he grumbled, pulling the covers up over his shoulder and turning to face the wall.

"Sure didn't sound like nothing." Steve argued, but Bucky heard his footsteps receding towards the other end of the room. 

But a soft voice sounded through the cabin, making Bucky shiver. "What fucked you up so badly, Bucky?"

He made no reply.

 

***

 

Steve woke at six that morning, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He checked that Bucky wasn't having another fit, then hopped in the shower. He closed his eyes, letting the water run down his skin in soothing streams.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked back into the room, to find Bucky sitting up in bed, bleary eyed and hair sticking up in every direction. Bucky raised his head when Steve entered the room, but quickly looked away when he noticed Steve's attire. Or rather, lack of. Steve got a bit confused at this, but shrugged it off and grabbed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, then re-entered the bathroom to change.

 

The next couple of hours passed without incident, thankfully, as Brock and his gang stayed as far away from Bucky and Steve at breakfast as they could.

But it was the first activity after lunch when things started to go down hill.

 

***

 

Bucky stared at his schedule. Water polo. That meant swimming, that meant wearing swimming trunks, that meant...

No. There was absolutely no way they were getting him in that pool.

 

Cheers filled the air as teenagers jumped into the warm water, splashing each other and laughing. Bucky hung back, wearing a jacket even though it was 97 degrees.

He saw Steve getting sprayed with water by that red head Natasha, and that guy Sam tackling Steve down beneath the waves. They looked happy.

But by then the camp counselor had finally noticed he hadn't gotten in yet, and came over to talk to him.

"James, isn't it? You gonna get in the pool?" she asked, not unkindly. Bucky stared numbly at the water and shook his head.

"Come on, it's not even that deep. I can promise a guy your height will not drown." Again Bucky didn't answer, instead taking a step away from the pool. He saw Steve out of the corner of his peripheral vision climb out of the water, dripping wet. Great.

"You okay, Bucky?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Bucky snapped. "I just... don't have any trunks."

"Oh." said Steve. "Well I always bring spare, you can borrow them if you want."

Bucky rolled his eyes. This guy really didn't know how to take a hint.

"I really don't want to get in the water, okay? I would prefer to sit out, please." he directed this last sentence at the counselor. 

"Alright, if that's what you really want. Okay guys, split yourselves into two teams, and we can get started." 

Steve still stood in front of Bucky, unsure if he should leave or go join his friends.

"Don't you have a game to play, big guy?" Bucky shot over at him. Steve looked stunned, then turned back to splash down into the pool. Bucky ran a hand through his untidy hair, and sat down on a bench with his feet up to pull out his novel and read.

 

***

 

Steve tossed the inflatable ball over the goalie's outstretched arms, scorning his team another point. Sam came swimming over to stand beside him.

"Man, this isn't fair. You have a distinct advantage with your new-found height, and it's costing our team big points. Do you think Natasha will let me sit on her shoulders so I can aim into the goal?"

"She most certainly will not." said a voice from behind them before Sam went down under the water, kicking and spluttering. 

Natasha pushed through the water to come to a halt in front of them. "Don't make me push you under too, Rogers."

Steve held up his hands. "No ma'am, I think I'm good." 

Sam finally rose back up, brushing water out of his hair. "I concede," he said, trying to bang water out of his ear. "So Steve, what was the deal with that Bucky kid? Why is he sitting it out?"

Steve looked over at Bucky, who was nose deep in a book. "I don't know, it was like he was afraid of the water. Or maybe he's got a skin condition, I'm not sure."

At that moment, the ball came flying towards Sam, who tried to grab it, but it was snatched out of thin air by Natasha who lobbed it into the goal.

"What?! Are you serious? You weren't even anywhere near me! How am I the only one who hasn't scored yet? This is ridiculous."

"Chill, Wilson, it's only a game." Natasha smiled sweetly at him before knocking his feet under him, making him fall backwards into the pool.

"Aww Nat, you didn't have to do that." Steve smiled. 

Natasha shrugged. "No, I didn't."

 

***

 

Following dinner was a bonfire, and kids laughed and joked around the roaring flames as smoke and embers flew up into the dark blue night sky, creating an illusion of age-old magic. The smoke twirled in different shapes and forms, but made Bucky's eyes sting, and he rubbed them vigorously. 

The dancing flames were mesmerizing to watch, as they consumed the wooden logs, and crackled along the dry twigs and grass, every so often spitting out a spark of fire.

Bucky stared until his eyes began to hurt again, and he closed them. The burning smell gave him a weird sense of homesickness, not for his small apartment in the backstreets of Brooklyn, but of the chilled nights in their home in Russia. His mother would light the fire, and they would all sit around it, his step-dad holding his mom on his knee, and Bucky seating in front, watching the flames jump and twist. 

Those were the better memories, unspoiled by the time that  _he_ was still with them. 

Bucky stopped his thought, not allowing himself to think about it. 

Suddenly the fire didn't seem so warm, the soft chatter not so inviting. Bucky glanced at his watch to see that it was nearly eight, so he decided to head back to the cabin. Walking off into the growing darkness between the trees, he didn't notice a figure detach itself from the crowd and follow him.

 

Reaching the cabin, he opened the door and switched the lights on, finding it empty. Shucking off his coat, Bucky reached into his drawers to grab a shirt to sleep in and pulled off the current one. 

Hearing a gasp, he whirled around to see Steve standing in the doorway, his eyes on Bucky's torso. Realizing too late, he tried to hastily pull the shirt over his head, but Steve was already there, yanking it off and spinning Bucky around so he could see his back.

"Holy shit, Bucky," he breathed, hands clamped down on Bucky's shoulders, holding him in place. "What the hell happened to you?"

Bucky bit his lip, but he knew he had to come up with an explanation for the scars that crisscrossed his entire back, ugly red ridges of puckered flesh.

"I... I can't... It's not... not something I want to talk about." he began, but Steve wouldn't let his go.

"Oh my god... is this why you didn't want to get in the pool? Oh Bucky... I... I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything!" Bucky yelled, shrugging out from under Steve's hold and pulling his shirt back on. "It's none of your business, okay? I said I don't want to talk about it."

Steve just stood there, a mixed look of horror and pity in his features. It made Bucky want to crawl under his bed and never come out. He didn't want to be seen as weak, especially not by Steve.

"Bucky..." Steve whispered. "Who did that to you?"

Bucky's lip started to tremble, but he held it firmly between his teeth. "No-no one..."

"Bucky." Steve warned, and Bucky let out a wobbly sigh.

"My father." he blew out, finally. "But please, Steve, you can't tell anyone, okay? These were from a long time ago, a past I don't want to remember. It's over, we've dealt with it, and I'm trying to forget. So please... don't say anything."

Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually he nodded.

"Good." Bucky sighed, sinking down onto his bed. But Steve still stood there, as if he still had something to say.

"My... my dad left when I was thirteen. And my mom... she got diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago. So don't tell me I don't understand, because I do. I guess not to the extent that you know, but yeah, I have parent troubles to, so you're not alone Bucky. No one ever is, even if they wish they were."

Before Bucky could say anything, Steve left, letting the door close silently on his way out.

Bucky stared at the spot he had just vacated, deep in thought.

 

When Steve arrived back two hours later, Bucky was rolled on his side, facing the wall. He could hear feet shuffling along the floor for a bit, then the lights clicked off. And Bucky didn't have one dream that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like everyone to know, I am british, so excuse me if I get anything relatively American wrong


	5. Kitchen Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve cash in on their punishment

The following Wednesday morning, Steve asked Bucky if he wanted to sit with them at breakfast. Bucky said yes.

They walked down to the mess hall together, not speaking, each boy lost in his own thoughts.

Opening the doors, Steve walked into the hall, followed closely by Bucky. Steve spotted Natasha and Sam already tucking into toast and cereal, and went to sit down with them, motioning for Bucky to follow him over.

Bucky stopped to assess the two teenagers seated there, one resting his head in his hand, and methodically shoveling cereal into his mouth. The other stared at Bucky, face expressionless, as if she was calculating different ways to snap his neck.

Bucky squared his shoulders and slumped down into the seat next to Steve, his sudden arrival jolting Sam out of his morning daze.

"Oh, hey Steve, and uh... Bucky, right? Nice to meet you, I'm Sam." The boy shot a look at Steve, who responded with a glance that said  _Don't worry, I know what I'm doing._ Sam shrugged and went back to his bowl. Natasha continued to stare at Bucky.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, then stood up. "I'm gonna go, uh, get some food." He quickly extracted himself from the table, and made his way over to the breakfast counter. Piling his plate up with toast and bacon, then grabbing a knife and fork, he walked back to the table. Steve and Natasha hastily cut off their conversation as Bucky set his plate carefully down, before dropping back into his seat. Sam looked like he had fallen asleep, head resting on his arms that were lying folded on the table.

Steve coughed and pointedly looked at Natasha, who rolled her eyes. They seemed to have an entire conversation just using their facial expressions, until Steve stood up to get some breakfast. Natasha snorted and turned to look at Bucky, who was trying hard to concentrate on his bacon.

"So," Natasha said, starting the conversation in Russian. "Steve has asked me to be nice towards you, but I disagree with him. I have yet to see a reason to treat you respectfully. Tell me something, James Barnes, will you give me a reason to be nice,  or will you give be a reason to break a limb?"

Bucky chewed on some toast, thinking about his response, before replying. " I have not done anything to hurt Steve, and neither am I conspiring to."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "He got into a fight on the first day, a fight that you started, and came out of it with a black eye and bruised ribs."

"I did not ask him to help me. He punched Rumlow of his own free will. That was not my fault, and you cannot blame me for the consequences." 

Natasha sighed. "I do not want to have to argue with you, Barnes. I just worry for Steve. He is one of the few friends that I permit myself to have, and I do not want to see him hurt."

"I am not trying to hurt Steve, or get him into trouble. I'm trying to stay out of it as much as I can."

"I understand that. But what I worry about is if what you say now will be what comes to pass in the future."

Bucky frowned. "What? I am telling you, I do not-" he stopped as Steve appeared at the head of the table.

"Wait... Was that Russian you were speaking? Bucky, you know how to speak Russian?"

Bucky glared at Natasha, who rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. 

"Um, yeah, I lived there for nine years before moving back to the States a year ago."

"Why?" Steve inquired as he sat back down at the table.

Bucky bit his lip. "Family problems, I guess you could say."

Before Steve could delve further, Coulson walked over to where they sat.  "Rogers, Barnes, I have it down that you two have kitchen duty at least once a day for the remaining week. Finish up your breakfast then go report to chef in the kitchens. Wilson, wake up, time for sleep is over."

He walked away, and Natasha looked pointedly over at Bucky.

"What was that about not getting Steve into trouble?" she asked in Russian.

 

***

 

Steve hummed as he scrubbed at a crusty pan, standing in front of a sink filled with soapy water. Bucky stood somewhere next to him, drying dishes before stacking them in a cupboard.

Steve kept humming, then changed it to whistling. Bucky looked at him sideways.

"Are you whistling the American anthem?" he asked.

Steve pretended to look hurt. "Hey, it's catchy. I'm very patriotic."

Bucky laughed under his breath. "Yeah, I can tell."

Steve put down his pan. "What's that suppose to mean?" he replied, making his voice rise to sound indignant.

Bucky groaned in amusement. "Oh please, you have the whole typical-American-boy look down. I saw one of your sketchbook pages was a study of bald eagles, you have the American flag as a bookmark, and- When's your birthday?"

Steve coughed, suddenly embarrassed. "Um... July 4th?" 

"My point exactly! Even your birthday is on American Independance Day! You are all-american, Steve Rogers." 

Steve went back to scrubbing the pan, determined to keep the conversation going now that Bucky was properly talking to him. "You saw my sketch book?"

Bucky froze. "Um... yeah, it was just lying open. I only glanced. Sorry." He turned his back to Steve, slowly drying the dishes again. 

"No, it's okay, really. Did you... did you like them?"

Bucky paused his drying, then continued again, smiling slightly. "Yeah, they were really good. You should consider drawing portraits for money."

"Hmm, yeah I have thought about it. But it's kinda just a hobby, you know? Not something I really want to pursue as a career."

Bucky looked back at him. "What do you want to do, then?"

"I want to join the army."

Bucky set another plate on the pile accumulating next to him. "Really? That's a tough path to follow. Dangerous. You gotta be really brave to do that."

Steve nodded. "I know. A lot of people thought it was a crazy idea, because I was so small before. Asthma, weak knees, scrawny body. You name it, I probably had it. But only recently I got better. My mom said it was ironic, how I improved as she... Anyway, I guess I proved all those people wrong, eh?"

"I'm trying to picture you as this skinny little kid, but it's not working. The army would be fools not to let you enlist. But you sure you can do that? Being able to fire a gun... Take a person's life... A lot of army veterans have PTSD, needing therapy after they see friends die, not being able to unsee all the pain. You don't know what could happen out there, things go wrong all the time..." Bucky trailed off, dishes left forgotten in front of him.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, placing the pan down and moving forward. "You okay?"

Bucky jumped slightly, startled out of his musings. "What? Yeah, fine. Totally fine. Don't worry." He quickly picked up another dish, drying it with furious vigour. 

"Alright, if you're sure." said Steve, returning to the sink. 

"Anyway," he drew out, deciding it would be best to change subjects. "Can I ask you a question? You may think I'm a bit strange, but it's been bugging me all morning and I need to know if I'm right."

When Bucky nodded, Steve continued. "When I heard you speaking Russian with Natasha, something kind of pinged in my head, but I wasn't one hundred percent certain. So I'm just gonna ask. When I was seven, I knew a kid called Bucky who went to my school. Funnily enough, I never learnt his last name. We were best friends. Did everything together. Played at the park, sat together in class. Then one day, he left. Just up and vanished. I never saw him again. It took me three weeks, but after asking around, I found out he had moved to Russia." By this point, Bucky had stopped drying, and was standing there listening. 

"I was really confused as to why he would leave without telling me... We told each other everything. At least, I hoped we did. So I guess what I'm asking is... Were you him, Bucky? Did you live in Brooklyn before you moved to Russia? Please, I just... I really wanna know. That kid was my best friend, and I was never as close with anyone then I was with him."

Bucky still stood there, not facing Steve, just staring at the counter. It took Steve a minute to realise that Bucky was gnawing at his lip, and trembling slightly. 

"Bucky? I'm sorry, I know it was crazy, but... you have to admit, there was so much evidence, and it all pointed to yes. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I-"

"It's okay." Bucky choked out. "I get it, you wanted to have your best friend back. But I'm sorry Steve, I've blocked out my childhood, it wasn't a nice place for me. I don't remember a lot. I'm sorry..." And with that, Bucky closed up like a clam, refusing to speak for the rest of the morning. 

 

Steve tried to get him to talk later, but all he managed was one-worded answers. 

Steve knew he fucked up. The conversation they had had in the kitchens, how Bucky talked and smiled and even laughed, it meant nothing now. Their fragile relationship had crumbled just a little bit more, after Steve tried so hard to keep it building up. Getting Bucky to open up was proving harder than he thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was slightly draining to write. And yes, for anyone who didn't understand, Bucky blocked off his childhood memories because of an abusive father :( Boys can be so stubborn, so it's gonna take a lot of late-night talking and maybe ice cream to get him to share his past. *sighs*


	6. Friendly Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky play a round of mariokart, and share some ice cream and stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took a while to write this chapter, especially since i've been doing a lot of work. but here you are, nothing important happening, just the furthering of steve and bucky's friendship (soon to be relationship... hueheueheheuehee...)

After lunch that day, once Bucky and Steve had helped pack away the cutlery and dishes, they found themselves in the recreational hall, where a few kids were playing boardgames or reading books. Steve saw that the large TV hanging on the wall was currently switched off, and the Wii wasn't in use. A thought sprung into his blonde head.

"Hey, Bucky, up for a game of Mario Kart?" he asked, silently begging that the Bucky Steve saw that morning would reveal himself again. 

Bucky looked worried. "Um... sure, I guess."

Steve inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he could bring out the chatty, smiling Bucky that he had yet to see the full side of, and finally help Bucky to accept his friendship. He waled over to the console, and chucked a controller at Bucky whilst opening the case for Mario Kart.

Bucky caught the controller with one hand. "Wow," said Steve, impressed. "Good reflexes."

Bucky shrugged. "Had a lot of practice." He said no more, not until Steve switched on the TV and brought up the game, and they were able to choose their characters.

"Yoshi, really?" he snorted, giving Steve a look.

"What? How can you not love Yoshi, he's a little green dinosaur. And hey, you can't talk, you picked Shy Guy!"

Bucky shrugged. "I can relate to him."

Steve shook his head as he chose a track to begin with.

"What? No! Don't do rainbow road! I haven't played this game for ages and you're already choosing the hardest track to play on! C'mon, give a guy a break."

Steve laughed and pressed start. "Too late, Buck, I am gonna knock you on your ass."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but Steve noticed the way his mouth twitched at the nick-name.

 

Six games later, and Bucky and Steve were soon elbowing each other and throwing insults as they battled for 1st place, Steve whining every time he was hit by a red shell.

"No fair, Bowser knocked me into the lava!" Bucky moaned.

"I thought by now you would have realised there are no rules in Mario Kart. You gotta fight dirty if you want to come out on top." Steve responded, and whooped as he finished the race first with Bucky coming in fourth.

Bucky groaned, dropping the controller on the floor and letting his head fall in his hands. "Sometimes I hate this game. It breaks people apart."

"We better not play monopoly then, eh?" Steve joked, clicking through the tracks displayed on screen.

"Hey fellas. Mind if we join?" Bucky and Steve turned their heads to see Natasha and Sam standing behind the couch. 

"Sure," Steve beckoned them over. "Grab a remote and we can fit you guys in."

Sam picked up two controllers, tossing one to Natasha, who caught it easily, and dropped down in a bean bag. Natasha settled herself on a squishy chair, legs tucked neatly underneath her.

 "Alright, let's get this party started!" cheered Sam.

Steve noticed that Bucky was less inclined to speak now that Sam and Nat had joined them, but he played the game all the same. When Nat had them all beat and cursing under their breaths as she won race after race, Bucky began smiling again and laughing at Sam's commentary. Steve smiled. Maybe he had exaggerated with Bucky retreating in on himself after Steve mentioned Bucky's childhood. He was glad Bucky was finally beginning to seem comfortable around his friends.

 

***

 

When Steve left to go to the bathroom, Bucky gulped at the prospect of being alone with these two teenagers he had just met. He had only just started to feel accepted by Steve and his friends, but only when Steve was around. Now that he might need to talk to them without Steve there made Bucky shrink down into the couch.

Sam looked over at Bucky and grinned. "So Bucky, how are you enjoying camp so far? Other than Natasha thrashing our butts at Mario Kart, and that fight you had on the first day, and having to do kitchen duty... Uh, forget I said anything."

Bucky forced a slight smile. "It's okay I guess. Never been to another camp before, so I can't really say I've had better. The food is good though, and most of the activities are alright. I've been avoiding Brock Rumlow, though. I'd rather not be sent home just yet."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, Brock Rumlow is a real piece of work. He's like an angry bull; avoid eye contact and stay out of his way, and maybe you won't get gored by his horns. You know one time on our second visit here, he tipped all of the clothes of this boy's suitcase out in the lake because the kid made them lose one of the activity races. Turns out the kid had asthma and couldn't run that fast. Rumlow's real competitive, I can tell you that."

"He tried to hit on me once," Natasha said simply as she hit Sam with a green shell on screen. "After I watched him shove this little boy into a bush. I told him I'd rather jump in the lake naked than go out with him, and the jerk offered to hold my clothes for me. So obviously I dropped him into the dirt, twisted his hands behind his back, and told him if he ever tried that again with me, or any other girl at this camp, I would make him one of the girls he likes to tease and objectify so much."

Bucky stared at her with wide eyes, and Sam laughed out loud. "She wouldn't hesitate to, as well. Natasha managed to rig a girl's zip wire harness to stop halfway down the line because she called Nat boyish cause Nat only wore black trousers and hoodies. It took them an hour to get the girl down, who was crying and screaming at the staff she'd sue them all. It was hilarious!"

"Don't forget how at dinner she came in wearing this killer dress and make-up, shutting up that girl and making the guys practically drool." Steve added in, sitting back down and picking up the controller. "Nice to see you guys waiting for me." He was twelfth.

"Not our fault you drink so much water." Sam responded, finishing the race in third. 

"Hey, it's good to stay hydrated! It also keeps my skin healthy." Steve protested.

Sam groaned. "You and your healthy body! Even when you're all beefed up you still have to take every precaution, don't you?"

"When was the last time I had a spot, Wilson?" 

"Spots are natural for the teenage body! But you look like you're some sort of... superhuman. It's disturbing me how much physical change you went through. You should have seen Steve before, Bucky. He was nearly half his height now, all skin and bone, asthma pump always at the ready. Yet he still insisted in sticking up for every single kid he saw being bullied, pushed over. A real softie, our little Stevie is. Well, big Stevie now. I still think you're on steroids."

Steve chucked the controller at him.

 

***

 

As the night slowly darkened, and people started drifting off towards their cabins, Bucky found himself walking back to the cabin with Steve after wishing Sam and Natasha goodnight. They had stayed together during the remaining sessions, and Bucky realised he rather enjoyed their company. Sam knew how to make him laugh, and was a real team player when it came to sports. Natasha was still assessing Bucky, but she smiled at him none the less, and taught him how to play poker after dinner.

Steve noticed Bucky still lost in thought, and pulled him out of the path of a pine tree. "What's up, Bucky? You nearly smashed into that tree there. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Bucky answered. "It's just..." he trailed off.

"Go on." Steve prompted him.

Bucky sighed. "I've never really been included in a group before. I mean, I've had friends, sure, but they weren't exactly a good influence, usually too high or drunk to make proper conversation."

Steve listened, silently urging Bucky to keep going. 

"But... Sam and Natasha, they're different. They laugh, listen to me, know how to keep a conversation going. You're like that as well." He said, finally meeting Steve's eyes. He huffed. "What I'm trying to say is... Thank you for taking a chance on me. Most people take one look at me and think I'm about to set fire to their hair or something."

Steve bit his lip, remembering his initial worry that Bucky was going to ignite his hair in his sleep. Bucky continued.

"So obviously when I met you, and you persisted in getting to know me, I was a little taken aback. I'm usually dismissed as some kind of juvenile delinquent. So yeah... thank you."

"You're welcome." Steve said, as they reached the cabin door. Steve pushed it open and walked in to reach under his bed. "You know what else friends do?" he asked.

"No? Err, what are you doing?" Bucky asked as Steve wriggled further under the bed, grunting.

"Probably shouldn't have pushed it so far under... Aha! Got it!" He clambered out from underneath his bed and held up a tub of vanilla ice cream, whilst reaching under his pillow to bring out two spoons.

"What? How did you get that?" Bucky marvelled as he took the tub from Steve's hand and inspected the label.

"I've been to this camp for five years, Buck. Some of the lunch ladies owe me. Don't have any bowls though, sorry."

Bucky shook his head, smiling. "It's fine. I love ice cream. Thank you. Again."

 

They sat on Steve's bed, digging out spoonfuls of the delicious dairy product and sharing stories. Bucky learnt that Steve had a dog named Boomer, listened to classic rock like Led Zeppelin, and crashed the car on his first driving test so instead his uncle gave him his old motorbike. Bucky told Steve about living in Moscow, and the different cultures between the States and Russia.

"So you do celebrate Christmas?" Steve asked, taking another spoon of ice cream.

"Yeah, but we have Ded Moroz, or Father Frost, instead of Santa Claus. Basically the same guy, though."

"What's the weather like?"

"Cold. Nothing like Siberia though. I went there once to visit relatives, and even with seven layers on I could only bear staying outside for a few minutes."

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you move there?"

Bucky stilled, hand clenched around the spoon so tight Steve thought he saw it bend slightly.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I'm sorry, it wasn't my place to ask."

Bucky shook his head. "No, no, it's okay. I've been told by my therapist that it's good to sometimes talk about the things that trouble us most. Thing is, I could never find anyone who was willing to listen, or wouldn't judge me." He looked at Steve through a veil of brown hair, eyes silently asking a question.

"You can tell me, Buck, I would never judge you." Steve promised.

Bucky huffed out a breath. "Here goes." He cleared his throat. "When I was about six, my father lost his job in the armed forces; can't remember why. He fell into a pit of depression, started drinking, coming home late. Couldn't be bothered to look for another job. My mother was already working as a nurse, she had to get another job to support me and my sister Rebecca. I tried to help around the house as much as I could. I had to learn how to grow up fast, to look after Becca and ensure she didn't have to. 

The alcohol began to make my father angry; there was rarely a time when he was sober. He would start arguing with my mother, which would make Rebecca cry, and that would make him even more mad. Then soon after that came... more physical abuse. I remember the first time he slapped her, the look on her face as she backed away, the red mark it left on her cheek. From that moment on, I hated him." 

Bucky took a deep breath, trying to control his nerves, but Steve stayed silent, listening intently.

"My mom tried to protect me as best I could, but he was always so mad. Everything I did seemed to piss him off. But one day, I knocked a glass onto the floor, making a terrible shattering sound, and... he snapped. He unfastened his belt... lifted my shirt up, and... beat me. The pain was unbearable. I passed out, and my mother had to physically shove him away from me. She didn't take me into hospital, because she was so afraid of his wrath... So instead she bandaged me up as best she could and told me not to breathe a word, or he would get mad.

The beatings continued, and my mother was powerless to stop him. Every time Rebecca cried, he would roar at my mom to shut her up, but then take his anger out on me. I was okay with that, as long as he left Becca alone. One day he got so mad, he twisted my left arm back so hard, it snapped in three places. My mother knew she had had enough. She packed our bags that night and drove me to a hospital, and once a cast was on we left for the airport to board a flight to Moscow, as my mother had family living there. We never saw him again.

A few years later she met some American guy, Jeremy. They married, and now he's my new stepdad. He's an ass, but at least he doesn't beat me. Rebecca likes him, so I guess that's okay. He convinced us to move back to the States, and my mom got a job as a nurse again. She's confident we'll never see... that man again, but at night I can still hear his voice, always shouting, and the lashes on my back throb. A year ago my mom signed me up for counselling, because I was so distant and angry all the time. But she doesn't get it, even though she should. She has Jeremy now, who makes her smile, and Rebecca was too young to remember it, but I do. And its haunted me ever since."

Bucky finished, his voice wobbling at the end, and tears threatened to fall from his eyes, but he wiped them away angrily. Steve sat there, searching for the right words.

"Buck... God, Bucky, that... I'm so sorry. That sounded like hell. I'm so, so sorry you had to go through that. Jesus..." He rubbed his face, lost for words.

"S'not your fault." Bucky mumbled. "Y'know, I've never even told my therapist the whole story. And here I am blabbing my troubles to some guy I met a few days ago. What's up with that?" He laughed, but it sounded forced.

"That's my natural calming presence, so people feel obliged to share their stories with me." Steve joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but Bucky frowned.

"Yeah... You do have an oddly settling aura. Damn you, Rogers." Bucky smiled. "Thank you for listening to me, Steve. It feels nice to get everything out."

"No problem, Buck. You know you can talk to me anytime?"

Bucky nodded, picking up the empty tub and throwing it in the bin by the door. "Fuck, it's already one. We should probably get some sleep."

"Yeah, definitely." Steve agreed, pulling out some comfortable sleep-wear. They got ready in companionable silence, brushing their teeth and clambering into bed.

"Night, Steve." Bucky said softly as pulled the covers up.

"Night, Bucky." said Steve as he flicked the lights off, plunging the room into darkness.

Bucky fell asleep immediately, dreaming of ice cream, Led Zeppelin music and a dog named Boomer.

 


End file.
